the mermaids curse
by EmmaTwinkle
Summary: Ensnaring a man is no trouble for these creatures - they are unnaturally beautiful. To further her potential, a mermaid is capable of trading her fin for legs when completely out of water, as she emerges from the sea, her anatomy changes completely. The catch: if a mermaid remains on land for too long, she will waste away and even die as they can only thrive in the arms of the sea
1. Chapter 1

The early morning sunlight fell true, piercing the shelves and embalming them in golden light. It washed across worn bindings, revealed titles of fiction and fact, led its light to uncover books that lie in wait for someone to pull them from the shelves.

Terry closed his eyes as he looked on the book in his hand, the light shone on the title _greek mythologies. _Terry had been obsessed when he had first heard the tales of the mystic mermaids. even more when he had heard that an old aquaintance of his had seen one.

He felt a fierce desire for one of those creatures surge in him, a possessive force he'd couldn't satisfy until one of them was his. Never had Terry coveted something so much. He could envision it now, his life with such a creature at his disposal. How the lords would envy him, casting bitter glances at their wives and mistresses who would pale in comparison. How the ladies would wilt to know that they could never hope to achieve such beauty. How the world would stare in wonder that a man such as he had taken the sea and made it his own. For that is what a mermaid was. That kind of siren his friend had glimpsed; It was the only thing that Terry felt was right; she _was_ the sea.

She would be his. She would stand at his side, draped in only the finest fabrics, and fitted with the most flattering styles. She would be elegant, and divine, rivaling royalty in her manner and grace. She would be perfect. He could see it. He could taste it. He could feel it.

Enrique sighted, strands of his black hair was infront of his eyes, and he had to push the hair out of his eyes using his hand. The People in the tavern where asking him to tell about when he had seen the mermaid. for them it was something mysterious, something they could muse and laugh about, after all they believed that such Creatures did not exist.

The sun felt warm on her skin, as did the dry rock the rippled under her fingertips as Ingrid slid a hand up to curl around the top of the stone. Slowly she pulled her body out of the sea, peering at the bustling docks with shy eyes. She felt the water rolling in droplets down her back, her flesh tingling as it adapted itself to the open air. She bit her bottom lip as she slid further up the rock, crooning her arm over the stone to hold her there, taking in everything she could of the human world.

She gave a flick of her tail; the feel of water swirling around her lower half calming her nerves. Being so close to the men of the docks was unsettling, exciting, and altogether thrilling. The world of the humans was a mystery. It was farther than she dared to reach, farther than she should. The rocks that jutted out of the waves in this remote corner of the bay offered her some protection, but it was as close as she dared to get. At least for now. Just watching was enough to sustain her curiosity, but how long that would last was a mystery.

Shae wouldn't dare venture closer today. Not after what had happened the previous week. She was sure shed been seen by that man- the one who seemed different from the others. The one with the salient way about him. She had slipped away as delicately as she could manage, feeling the weight of his stare long after she had known he could no longer see her. She didn't like the feeling of his notice of her. There was something dark about it. Something looming.

But she was safe now. He had gone, and Ingrid was left to spy of the doings of the sailors in unnoticed peace.

She turned her eyes upwards, towards the towering outline of the palace on the crest of the hill. She had come to love the sight of it, how it glittered in the distance, out of her reach, majestic and mysterious as it was. She wondered what it was for, what manner of men it harbored. We're they as rough and untamed as the men of the seaside, or were they more like that important man? If Shae had to guess, she imagined that men like him belonged in glittering palaces like that.

Ingrid frowned a bit.

She remembered the uneasiness his eyes had left her with, and she suddenly found herself musing that men like him didn't deserve such grand things. Perhaps it was better that men like him stained high up in their far away palaces, where the sea was safe from them and them from the sea. She liked these bearded and tattooed sailors of the docks. Their eyes were more friendly, but at the same time, they were the ones you needed to watch you back out for. Because they were Dangerous.

(a/n: sorry for any grammatical errors this time, the computer simply would not work With me today.)


	2. Chapter 2

He had been captivated by the sea, by whatever was concealed in a world uncontrolled and untouched by mortal man. Perhaps it was rightly so, to be entranced by something so out of reach, impervious to a man of his power, an entity that would never be tamed. Its untold secrets, buried beneath waves of effervescent cerulean, beckoned to him and whispered to him in hushed promises, as each wave met the resistance of the shore.

It was then that a plan took shape, a scheme fell into place. As cold as he was to those outside Ettorion Hall, Terry was never without connections. Networking was an asset he valued, and with confidence, Terry could boast that he had ties with all walks of life in Clampton. And with his abilities, he was sure he would find someone to suit him in his quest for finding this beauty of the sea.

The irritated slap of shoes against hardwood sounded just behind him,

"no doubt the maid prepared for another round of verbal jousting. " Terry thought and smirked

"Terry."

Hearing his name brought him back to the present and out of the comfort of his creative thoughts. His name has been uttered like a curse, feelings of stern annoyance and irrevocable authority clearly evident in the tones of his latest inquirer. It's quite clear it is no longer the maid that has grown exasperated by his antics; no, this voice is familiar and associated with a small kernel of dread. He could feel the light of the sun finally dying behind him as he turns to face his executioner, and with it, his passion. It was his father who stood before him now, sharp features made bolder by shadow. He looked unhappy, his hands folded stubbornly across his chest. Abram - Terry's father- has fallen into one of his moods, and he's unlikely to emerge from it until he has gotten what he wants. A hard man, Abram Ettorino fair but hard.

Carefully, under the glare of his father, Terry sets aside his paper and charcoal, a dull ache carving a hollow in his chest as he is separated from his latest project of trying to draw his perfect wife out from what his friend had seen. He stood up, despising the feeling of condescension as his father peers down at him in expectation.

"Terry, need I remind you that there are guests in our home, just outside your door? Or have your senses been dulled by the prolonged exposure to darkness?" Abram sweeps a hand to take in Terry's room, a place he now views with contempt. "Need I steer attention to what dwells just beyond the confines of this cavern of yours? A business world that you will someday enter?"

His temper was mounting, Terry had heard the rants before. He interjected before his father can work himself into a rage with a charming smile he has cultivated for times such as these. "I apologize, father, for my tardiness. I simply lost track of time. My mind was elsewhere, contemplating the workings of the latest trading venture. You know drawing helps generate my better ideas."

Dante reaches around his father to gather his dinner jacket, drawing his arms through the sleeves and clipping his cuff links into place with practiced ease. Abram eyed him, willing to let his son's tardiness slide if it means returning to his guests and appeasing them. He sighs, pinching his brow, before he stalks off, a warning in his eyes that indicates he will be continuing the discussion later.

When his father has left, relief seems palpable, and Terry pushed his fingers into his hair, musing locks of curls that never seem to cooperate. Perhaps it is better this way; people seem to prefer its rather unruly appearance, particularly the women. Another smirk pulls at his lips; there will be no shortage of women in attendance tonight. It is no wonder his father pushed so adamantly for his attendance.

Casting one last mournful glance to his abandoned canvas, He strides to the door, arming himself to greet the masses and uphold the family name.

The dinner party has worked its way well into the night; the guests have dwindled, but many have stayed. Couples dance in a flurry of rich colors and feather adornments, light music skitters between moving feet and is propelled through the air by the fluttering of the women's fans. Port is poured into the Cipriano's finest crystal; business deals are discussed and agreed upon in his father's study.

As soon as he could, Terry made his way to the library again. Still he could not believe how fast the time had gone, here he had thought he had spent a few minutes in his library and room, but in reality it had been for several hours.

When he came into the library he immediately looked for the books that was in his interest.

As the bindings of folklore and legends had been retrieved from the shelves of the library below, and the pillars of the literature grew upon the empty surfaces of his personal study, he had pounced. From the moment that the first yellowed pages had crossed the threshold, he had submerged himself in the words he had read before, re-reading them to solidify his beliefs. His mind had already painted the world for him, now it was simply a matter of reinforcing what he desired so fiercely to believe in. It was true. It had to be. Terry could feel it in the core of his being.

He knew what the rest of them would think, what they would say. He had been careful; oh-so-careful. He'd used false names, decoy events, disguises. He could play a part well. No one else knew. No one else would ever know. At the very least, not the whole of it.

Terry had been adamant on inventing every detail of the story that was to be told. Even as they spoke, a ship was on a return journey, bringing with it an absent passenger. The crew had been made to believe that they were transporting a young lady, a woman, who's whole life story had been invented by his mind . The ship would arrive in five days. That gave him time to secure the creature. The woman, the Lady who would be making Ettorion Hall her new home, would be graciously taken in by the Ettorion family. The particulars would have to be decided later, after Terry had seen what sort of specimen he would have to work with.

His eyes read over the first-hand account of a sailor who had survived an encounter with a mermaid. his description of her perfection, her grace, her pride. She would be the crowning glory on the Ettorion family. She would be the perfect ornament at his side. The lords wold want her, the Ladies would envy her. And he would be king in his little world.

He dove into another book, this one all conjecture, theory, and speculation about the mermaid species. he scrawled out notes on a blank parchment, crumpled it up and began a new one. His mind leapt from one idea to another, and he began scribbling on a fresh sheet.

By the end of the day, the papers of business that had meant to be completed had been shoved aside, and neglected. The books and papers that now consumed him had taken president over anything else. The lack of natural light had forced him to make use of the lamplights he had arranged for. Their flames burned low and steady, providing him the illumination he needed to get by. His fantasy was nearing reality, he could almost taste it. He suddenly stood, sending a few papers wafting to the floor, and strode into his room to retrieve a journal he'd moved to the stand beside his bed.

It was exactly as he had left it a few days before: open to a creased page, with a fresh ink-sploch smeared over what would have been an elegant script, but was not unreadable. Terry lowered himself to sit on the mattress, re-reading the page to himself, and slowly bringing the head of a pen up to correct what he had scratched out.

He worked in the dark silence longer than he had intended to. So engrossed in his own account of his findings that he hadn't heard the soft tread of Sinatria -his maid-. Satisfied with the addition he'd made to the small leather-bound journal, he returned it to the nightstand, still open to his current page. Grinning to himself he ran a hand through his hair, and swept back into the study. He had taken several steps into the room, eyes searching for his next book, when he suddenly stopped. The atmosphere had changed. And there was an addition to the decor that had not been there when he'd left it.

His eyes found her almost instantly. For a moment, his imagination so entangled in the myths of sirens and songs of mermaids, he saw one there where Sinatria was. Draped over the chaise in emerald fabrics of divine elegance, glowing with beauty, and smoldering with a cunning fierceness. Terry saw, for a moment, not Sinatria ; but rather the creature of myth he so ardently craved for his own.

A hunger, almost an insanity, flared in his eyes - only a reflection of the raging inferno of his desire. In the moment before he recognized her face for who she was, he could taste the sweet victory of the capture on his tongue. She was everything he had hoped she would be: Lovely, fierce, and perfect. But as quickly as it had taken him, it was gone.


End file.
